No Souls in Physics
by lamentomori
Summary: There is an old belief that everyone has a soulmate. To find your soulmate, you need to find the person with a soul-mark that matches yours, but Punk got rid of his, because there is no such thing as a soul. Warnings - Mild Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Mild AU, Fluff, Friendship.


_Warnings - Mild Slash (Colt Cabana/CM Punk), Mild AU, Fluff, Friendship._

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It is a common held belief that for every person there is one perfect partner, a soulmate. Common wisdom states that everyone is born with a soul-mark, a discolouration on the skin that is supposed to match one other person. It is said that whilst you can find love with someone who isn't your soulmate, you'll never be truly happy without them. Finding your soulmate is the task of every human, so they say at least.

Around a year ago, Punk moved into a small, affordable apartment with his _best_ friend, and fellow professional wrestler, Colt. The pair have managed to live together with surprisingly few difficulties to the great surprise of most people who know Punk. He is, almost famously, _prickly_ and difficult to get along with, but Colt manages to smooth over Punk's prickles by being unreasonably easy-going. They have a good partnership both in the ring, and out of it, and in Punk's mind that has nothing to do with a silly myth, it's all down to them understanding each other, but sometimes, he finds himself question just why Colt's his friend.

"Do you believe in souls, Punkers?" Punk squints through the shampoo running into his eyes at the figure that's come into the bathroom.

"What? No! Of course not, that's ridiculous." He scoffs, not entirely certain why Colt's decided that _now_ was the time to have this conversation, but apparently he has. He's leaning against the sink, his gaze focussed on the wall opposite him.

"Why?" He asks, and Punk shakes his head at the stupidity of the question.

"Because if you believe in souls you have to decide where they come from, and what does and doesn't have one. I mean, did dinosaurs have souls?" Punk snaps, starting to rinse the shampoo from his hair.

"Are you expecting an answer?" Colt laughs, and turns to start brushing his teeth.

"And if dinosaurs had souls what else has one? Is there a finite number of souls? Right now there are more living creatures on the earth than there's ever been, if there's a finite number of souls are there people

without one?" Punk ignores Colt's interjection, and keeps talking as he washes the rest of last of the shampoo out, and covers his wash-cloth with shower gel.

"Everyone has a soul-mark though..." Colt mumbles through a mouthful of toothpaste foam.

"Pff, soul-mark! That fucking bullshit. A birthmark doesn't determine who you're supposed to spend the rest of your life with. Fucking soul-mark." Punk scoffs, cleaning between his toes. He's never believed in the superstition of soul-marks. The thought that everyone is born with a mark on their skin, and that their soulmate is born with the same mark, in the same place , it's _always_ struck Punk as a stupid idea.

"Everyone has one though." Colt shrugs, still scrubbing at his teeth.

"Bullshit. It's a birthmark. If it wasn't there'd be people with soul-marks in their fucking ears." Punk snaps, glaring at his friend.

"What?" Colt turns to look at him, confusion clear on his face.

"soul-marks are mysterious destined marks that show up on your skin, right?" Punk asks, annoyed with the stupidity of this conversation.

"Well, yeah." Colt nods, spitting into the sink.

"And your skin covers every part of you. _So_ there's should be people with soul-marks in their mouths, or inside their eyelids, chicks with ones on their fucking cervix!" Punk _thinks_ he sounds a little too annoyed by this, but it's such a stupid idea.

"Is that even skin?" Colt laughs, and takes a swig of mouthwash.

"I don't fucking know, but the point stands! If they really were randomly placed by God or the Fates or whatever, they wouldn't just be out in the open." Punk definitely is getting too riled up by this, but stupidity always annoys him.

"Maybe God wants us to find our soulmate." Colt offers, a lazy smile on his lips.

"Bana, first there is no God, and second there is no such thing as soulmates, because there is no soul." Punk explains slowly, his eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Really?" There's a wheedling tone in Colt's voice, he's obviously looking to just wind Punk up, and it's working irritatingly well.

"Yes really! It violates the laws of physics for a start! If there's a soul it'd be a fucking perpetual energy machine and those don't fucking exist! You can't get energy from nothing! The soul lives on without a body, so it has to get energy from somewhere only it fucking well can't, because it's got no body!" Punk's not exactly an expert when it comes to physics, but he knows enough to know that's mostly somewhat accurate.

"Maybe that's why there's more people in the world..." Colt trails off, wiping steam off the mirror.

"I can't believe I'm asking this but, what?" Punk shakes his head, focussing on getting clean rather than this stupid conversation.

"Maybe after someone dies their soul goes on, but as time passes it can't keep going, so it breaks into bits, and each of those bits goes to a different person." Colt's studying his reflection in the mirror, swiping the steam off it once more.

"So your theory is souls are a virus that jump from host to host, progressively getting smaller and smaller?" Punk laughs, and Colt shrugs slightly.

"Maybe? I dunno... It's just an idea." He smiles sheepishly at Punk.

"A fucking stupid idea." Punk scoffs.

"Do you have one?" Colt asks, his smile growing into a smirk.

"One what?" Punk thinks he's asking if Punk has a soul-mark, but that's a stupid question.

"A soul-mark." Punk should remember that Colt is given to asking stupid questions though.

"Did you not just say everyone has one!" Punk shakes his head, stepping under the spray of water, starting to rinse the soap from his body.

"I've never seen yours." Colt's leaning against the sink, his eyes skimming over Punk's body.

"I've not seen yours either." Punk mutters, not really interested in this conversation any more. He pops the conditioner bottle's cap, and starts running some of the contents through his hair.

"I bet you've never looked. I've looked for your mark. I'm hoping the sooner you find your soulmate, the sooner you'll be a less salty motherfucker." Colt laughs, and Punk glowers over at him. He's not salty, and he's _very_ much not a motherfucker. He's just easily irritated by stupidity.

"Did I not just explain there's no such thing as a soul mate!" He snarls, considering throwing his wash-cloth at Colt's stupid, smirking face.

"You offered a theory, Punkers." Colt laughs at him. "So where is it?" He changes the subject clunkily.

"I got rid of it." Punk snaps.

"Bullshit. You can't get rid of it." Colt scoffs, shaking his head.

"I fucking did, as soon as could I got rid of it." Punk repeats. Long ago, as soon as he'd thought of something more meaningful he got rid of the damn thing under a tattoo.

"So it's been covered with a tattoo? Which one?" Colt guesses right, and Punk hopes he managed to hide his wince. Colt creeps closer to the bathtub, and Punk suddenly wishes they weren't such a pair of cheap bastards. If they'd bought a shower curtain none of this would be happening.

"What are you doing? Stay over there!" He squawks, flicking water at Colt.

"I'm looking to see if I can see your soul-mark. It's not under the Pepsi globe is it?" Colt smiles innocently.

"No! Back off before I punch you, Colt." Punk clamps a hand over the tattoo in question.

"Alright, alright. Gees, no need to get all defensive." Colt retreats with a laugh, hovering near the bathroom door.

"I'm not getting defensive! I would just like to shower without my personal space being violated." Punk gripes, and grabs his toothbrush from the window sill. "Toss me the toothpaste will you."

"You're not brushing your teeth in the shower!" Colt sounds indignant, earning a chuckle from Punk.

"I'm gonna floss too." He grins, watching Colt pull a disgusted face.

"That's fucking gross, Punkers." He mutters, but does throw Punk the toothpaste tube.

"I got nothing else to do while I wait for my conditioner to work." Punk starts brushing his teeth, intent on ignoring Colt until he goes away.

"You're such a girl." It seems, however, that Colt doesn't want to be ignored.

"Taking care of my hair does not make be female." Punk pointedly turns his back to Colt.

"You should start using face cream for those wrinkles, Punkers. Before too long only botox'll fix them." He chuckles at his own joke, and Punk spits the foam in his mouth out.

"I'm seriously going to punch you." He warns quietly.

"You wouldn't punch me when you're wet and naked would you?" Colt laughs, and opens the bathroom door.

"Yes. Now fuck off. What are you even doing in here anyway?" Punk turns back to him, rinsing the conditioner from his hair.

"I was brushing my teeth, not in the shower, like a normal person." Colt laughs once more, his eyes flickering over Punk's body again, lingering on his tattoos.

"Well, you've done it, so get out!" Punk throws the wash-cloth, but Colt's shut the door leaving it to thwap against the door, and fall to the floor in a sad little heap.

Punk put the conversation about soul-marks out of his mind. It's a stupid idea, based on nothing but stupid superstition, and a lack of scientific knowledge. In this modern age humans as a race should be over believing that there's some divine higher power guiding their lives. There's no such thing as predestination, there's no such thing as a god, and there's certainly no such thing as soulmates.

It takes Colt a long time to bring it up again, long enough for Punk to have fallen into a false sense of security that his best friend had forgotten all about the fact that his soul-mark is hidden under some ink.

"It's under an old tattoo, right?" They're sitting on an uncomfortable, but cheap motel bed in the elbow of nowhere when Colt says this, and Punk feels _slightly_ betrayed by it. He'd thought they were over this stupidity by now, it's been _months_ since the conversation in their bathroom.

"This again!" He glances at Colt out of the corner of his eye, hoping that the irritation he feels is visible in his look.

"I'm curious." Colt chuckles mildly, trying for innocent and sweet, but missing it.

"Curiosity killed the cat." Punk shifts beside him, and tucks his legs up under himself.

"I'm not a cat." Colt's protest is ridiculous, and Punk shakes his head in annoyance with him. Colt may be his best friend, but he is incredibly exasperating sometimes.

"Fine, curiosity will get you a punch." Punk modifies the threat, getting another laugh from Colt.

"For a man who makes so many threats, you've never actually punched me." He grins, and throws an arm around Punk's shoulders, pulling him into a hug, that has Punk snuggling a little closer.

"Keep pushing and I might." It's an empty threat, they both know that. Punk might threaten, they might _both_ threaten each other, but there's no chance they'll actually come to blows, they're too good friends for that to happen.

"It's not the Pepsi one... It's it the paw print?" It sounds like Colt's just listing off random tattoos he knows, or thinks Punk has.

"No." He answers more out of obligation than interest. They're watching a surprisingly good documentary, and he's genuinely kind of interested in it.

"The heart?" Colt's still going though, and Punk turns to him with an unimpressed face.

"No. Leave it, Bana." He tells him plainly, and a sudden almost triumphant look crosses Colt's face.

"It's the one on your calf, isn't it? The big black dude!" He crows.

"What?" Punk can feel the blood drain from his face, and he can't really say why. There's plenty of other people who know where his soul-mark is, but they're not _important_ to him. Not that knowing where the soul-mark is is important, it's just a silly birth mark after all.

"The dude from that record sleeve! That's where it is." Colt makes a grab for Punk's leg, and Punk twists away, making it obvious that Colt's right.

"Colt." He warns lowly. He's not sure why he doesn't want Colt to see, not sure why this feels like a big deal.

"Ha! I'm right!" Colt sounds content with his being right, a smug smile settling on his lips.

"Yes, alright. My soul-mark was on my leg, but I got rid of it." Punk shifts again, and hugs his knees to his chest, his hand resting over the tattoo in question.

"You covered it up, it's still there though." Colt's fingers trail over the back of Punk's hand lightly.

"What are you doing? I will kick you if you try and look." Colt withdraws his hand, and Punk realises that warning had been a little too on the side of real. He almost feels guilty for it, but the idea of Colt looking at where his soul-mark was fills him with something he can't quite describe, and therefore doesn't like.

"What does it look like?" Colt shifts away a little, settling down, and paying attention to the TV.

"I don't remember." Punk feels like he should be apologising somehow, but he's not sure how to phrase it, or even why he should be saying sorry in the first place.

"Bullshit." Colt sounds only half-interested in what Punk said, not looking over at him even a little.

"It doesn't matter, because souls don't exist and it's just a birthmark." Punk rubs his hand over the tattoo covering his soul-mark, and resumes watching TV, only nodding absently at Colt's next half-hearted comment.

"If you say so Punkers."

Colt doesn't bring up soul-marks again after that night, and Punk puts the whole silly notion out of his mind. It's a ridiculous idea, and not worth the effort involved in thinking to consider. He's got bigger, more important things to worry about. He focusses on his career, on his goal of getting to the WWE. A goal he eventually achieves, and although it's perhaps not the reward he'd been hoping for it could be worse. It has, if nothing else, afforded him the money to get a place of his own. One which Colt had turned down a room in, and so for the first time in a long time Punk lived on his own. It's not bad, but he misses having his best friend around. He misses having Colt there to keep him company on the road and at home, he misses Colt a lot more than he perhaps should, so on his scant few days off he has, he makes sure to spend time with his friends, Colt especially, though this now involves spending far more time in bars than Punk's happy about. Colt's got new friends. New friends who like bars, but are funny as hell, so Punk endures the bars, because Colt's friends are Punk's friends, and their friends like bars.

"Hey Punkers, what do you think of that girl over there?" They're sitting at table in some random bar that doesn't close until like three. Colt's comedy buddies are in various stages of drunk, some of them still sitting at the table telling jokes, others scattered throughout the bar attempting to land some female company for the rest of the night.

"Which one?" Punk tries to follow Colt's line of sight. He spots a pair of women at the bar, one tall and curvaceous, the other short and skinny.

"The brunette." Colt takes a sip of his soda, his attention still on the girls. Punk's unsurprised at Colt's comment, he's always preferred brunettes, and she is the more busty of the pair.

"Meh... Why?" She's not exactly Punk's type, though if he's honest he's not entirely sure he's got much of a type per say. He tends to hop from woman to woman, there's themes running through his selections, but not a strong enough one for him to say he has a type. They're never right for him, and he never stays with them for long, but he does tend to feel lonely, especially on the road, so he goes through women at the same rate he goes through comics.

"I dunno, she's kinda cute, right?" Colt takes another drink, almost as though he's steeling his nerves.

"For one night, I guess." Punk shrugs. One night, one date, one week at most that's how Colt's relationships usually go.

"Hmm... Maybe. Can you make out her mark?" Punk turns to him in shock. He's not heard this soul-mark bullshit from Colt in _years_.

"What? This again? Where is it anyways?" He scans the woman over again, but can't see anything that looks like a soul-mark on her.

"Her leg... On her calf, bout halfway up, same spot mine is." This catches Punk's attention more than he's happy about. He almost asks which leg, because his mind has jumped straight to where his own soul-mark is, the one covered up by a tattoo, the one he doesn't care about at all.

"That's where your soul-mark is?" He asks instead, thinking it a better, less stupid thing to say.

"Yup." Colt downs his drink, and sits up a little straighter.

"Pretty conspicuous spot, how come I've never seen it?" Punk suddenly wishes he'd kept his mouth shut, because Colt shoots him an odd look that makes him feel desperately uncomfortable.

"Do you spend a lot of time looking at my legs?" He laughs, and slings an arm around Punk's shoulders.

"No..." Punk answers quietly, sitting very still, ignoring his annoyingly racing and incredibly stupid thoughts.

"Well then." Colt squeezes his shoulder once, and takes his arm back. "Do you think I should talk to her? It's in the right spot and all but I dunno..." He sounds incredibly pensive, and Punk rolls his eyes at him to cover the fact he'd quite like Colt's arm back around him.

"You want me to talk to her?" He offers for a lack of anything better to say.

"No! If you talk to her she'll fuck you. I don't want you or your silver tongue near her." Colt snaps, his tone surprisingly harsh.

"Fuck you! I do not sleep with every girl I talk to." Punk feels oddly wounded by that comment, and he shifts away a little from Colt.

"I didn't say that. I said you'd fuck her. " Colt's still watching the two women, his eyebrows knit as he squints at the mark on the brunette's leg.

"Same difference, Bana." Punk mutters, snatching up his drink, and not paying any more attention to the women.

"Totally different! You, sir, never sleep." Colt takes a deep breath, and stands. "Right, I'm gonna do this. Wait here, or go fuck some random chick. Just not this one." He laughs, glancing down at Punk.

"Yeah, yeah, good luck with your soulmate." Punk doesn't look up from his drink, stabbing at the ice in it with the straw the bartender had given him.

"Thanksss, jerk." Colt wanders over to the girl, leaving Punk alone at the table, waiting for his services as designated driver to be called upon, and not thinking about how to contrive a reason to look at Colt's soul-mark at all.

The girl didn't pan out for Colt, she lasted three dates, and that was that. Punk didn't comment on her, or bring her up in casual teasing, but only because he couldn't shake the knowledge of where Colt's soul-mark was. It's in the same place as Punk's, probably at least, because he's not sure on the leg, and he wants to know. The only problem is if he asks Colt it'll undo all the ranting about how he doesn't believe in this crap he's done. He's stuck in a difficult bind, wanting information, having an easy way to get the information, but if he gets the information he wants he'll look like an idiot. However, in this instance things pan out in Punk's favour. A happy coincidence means that Colt's in the same city as Punk for a change, and as he's a frugal bastard, he's looking for a cheap place to stay. Sharing a motel bed isn't something they've done in a long time, but it's something they've done many times before, so Punk doesn't hesitate to offer half a bed to his best friend. Colt, as usual, falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, but Punk lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, until he decides to check out Colt's soul-mark for himself.

"What are you doing, Punkers?" Colt's sleepy voice jars Punk from his shocked contemplation.

"It's in the same place as mine." He whispers, not looking up from the mark on Colt's calf.

"I know." He yawns, and sits up, watching Punk with an oddly concerned look.

"You knew, and you never fucking told me?" Punk's voice is far quieter than he's happy about, but he can't seem to catch enough breath to be more angry. He can't even really work out why he should be angry in the first place.

"You don't believe in souls..." Colt trails off, his voice tinged with something impossibly sad. Punk scoffs at him, and looks away, guilt eating at him for reasons he doesn't want to think too hard about.

"You could have told me." He mutters. Colt laughs softly, and shifts, trying to pull his leg from Punk's grip, but Punk holds firm. "Why didn't you?"

"You don't-"

"Don't give me that! Why?" Punk repeats, interrupting Colt before he can give his incredibly reasonable response to what Punk's beginning to realise is a slightly unreasonable question.

"You wouldn't have cared?" Colt tries this time, his toes wriggling as Punk traces the shape of his soul-mark. Punk knows that shape, he knows it well. He can remember the last time he saw that shape, can remember it being swallowed by black ink. "So they're in the same place, that doesn't mean anything-"

"You never stay with any girl very long, do you?" Punk asks softly. He can feel a silly little smile spreading over his lips, and an odd sense of peace filling him. "I don't either." He looks back up to Colt, and watches realisation fill his eyes.

"I'm not getting a tattoo." Colt flops back down, obviously considering this conversation done, and intending to go back to sleep.

"Are we not talking about this?" Punk would very much like to talk about this. He's having some manner of existential crisis, and all Colt wants to do is sleep. The stupid superstition Punk has scoffed at, and mocked his whole life is real. He not only has a soul mate, but it's his best friend, and said best friend is completely and utterly not having the same mental breakdown Punk thinks he might be having.

"I'm tired, Punkers." Colt sits up enough to grab Punk's neck, pull him up to Colt, and trap him in a tight embrace. "I knew as soon as I worked out where your mark was, by the way." Colt presses an unexpected kiss to Punk's hair. Punk lies as still as he can in Colt's arms, his mind racing. "Go to sleep. Nothing's changed." Colt mutters, and squeezes Punk tightly.

"Every thing's changed." Punk counters. They're soulmates, and his whole life Punk's never even considered being with a man, but does being soulmates mean you have to _be_ together, does it mean that they're in a relationship now, does it mean that nothing has changed like Colt said, or does it mean that everything has changed like Punk thinks it has. Colt sighs dramatically, dragging Punk from his spiralling thoughts.

"The only thing that _has_ to change is that you're going to have to admit you were wrong. Now go to sleep." Colt chuckles, and seems to fall back asleep easily. Punk expects to be awake for hours, but sleep seems to be coming over him quickly, sleep that usually eludes him seems to be calling out to him. It's almost as though it's only in the arms of his soulmate that he's relaxed enough to let sleep consume him.

"I'm only half wrong." He mumbles, snuggling against Colt, revelling in the warm feeling that's flowing through him. "I still don't believe in souls, cause they still violate the laws of physics."

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